


Last Call

by JBear



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Pre-show, Smut, and lonnie byers is still an idiot, hawkins in 1980, jim and joyce have a history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 20:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19185421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBear/pseuds/JBear
Summary: They were once the best of friends. Fast forward to 1983 as Joyce sits across from Hopper's desk frantic that her son is missing and they can barely even look at each other.Which begs only one question. What happened in between? Welcome to Hawkins in 1980.





	Last Call

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure if my timeline is correct. I'm pretty sure Hopper's daughter died in '78, so I imagine he moved back to Hawkins a year or so after that. For the sake of this fic, he moved back early 1980. Just filling in the gaps of what happened between then, and where the show begins in '83.

September, 1980

It was half past ten on a dismal, rainy night when Hopper walked through the doors of TJ’s Tavern just on the East side of town. He couldn’t recall the last time he was even in this dive, but Hawkins didn’t have many options when it came to nightlife. In fact, it had exactly two options, and the alternative one, his usual haunt, had recently (apparently) become the newfound home to Lonnie _fucking_ Byers, of all people. And as if that weren’t enough to deter him, the already shallow waters in the pool of willing and available women had pretty well dried up in that place for Jim as well, and who was he kidding, he wasn’t much for repeat performances anymore. No expectations or false promises and no one gets hurt, was Jim’s motto as of late.

He’d had an unbearingly long day at the station; the highlight of which being the great mystery of who stole Mrs. D’Angelo’s car, in broad daylight no less, only to discover minutes later that the car was in fact safely in the garage, where she’d forgotten she’d asked her Grandson to park it for her due to the impending weather. Mrs. D’Angelo also, as it turned out, had forgotten to take her medication. Thank goodness the Chief of Police arrived just in time to give her a lift to the pharmacy.

Yes, this was the fucking day Jim Hopper was having.

“Whisky. Neat. Whatever’s cheapest” Jim grumbled in way of greeting to the bartender without looking up as he dropped himself onto the nearest empty stool. “And might as well bring a beer with that” he added as he absently drummed his fingertips along the weathered wood surface of the bar. He wasn’t ‘Mr. Social’ at the best of times and tonight he just wanted to shut the world out and enjoy his drink in peace. 

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns…” the voice from behind the bar began teasingly. “You had to walk into mine, huh?” 

Jim raised his head just enough to see the short brunette standing before him, bar towel slung over one shoulder and hands on her denim clad hips. 

“Oh, heya Joyce” Jim nodded at the familiar face. “What um… What are you doing here? Thought you were punchin’ a clock for old man Melville?”

“I am” Joyce shrugged. “Just, you know, we could always use the extra income so” she trailed off as she focused her attention instead on preparing Jim’s drinks.

Jim nodded in understanding, yet he didn’t quite believe her words. Sure, no doubt she could use the cash, but he didn’t buy for a second that that’s why she was moonlighting here of all places. If he had to guess, she wanted to keep an eye on that dirtbag she considered a husband, and what better place to do it than where he spent a majority of his time (avoiding her and their family). Not to mention it all makes sense now why the last couple weeks Lonnie started taking up real estate on a new bar stool clear across town.

 _Fucking Lonnie Byers_.

“Three twenty-five” Joyce announced as she slid the two drinks across the counter to Jim. “Or an even five if you're gonna buy one of those for me” Joyce nodded toward the glass of whisky and offered him a playful wink. Jim chuckled slightly before pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, taking one stick out and putting it between his lips before nodding and reaching into his wallet to slide a five dollar bill back across the bar. 

Two drinks had turned into nearly a dozen for Jim by the time last call was upon them and though he was certainly buzzed, he still had his wits about it him and never failed to notice the way Joyce would practically give herself whiplash turning to check the doors every time the chimes overhead signaled a new patron entering and the look of disappointment on her face every time it wasn’t Lonnie Byers. 

She never said anything, but then again, she didn’t need to, and Jim figured she probably already knew that so he’d save her the embarrassment of bringing it up. No use rubbing salt in the wound of his once friend. 

Once? Jim pondered that a moment. Were they no longer friends? He supposed not. He wasn’t in a place to be anyone’s friend. Not anymore. They’d barely spoken more than a few words to each other in the eight months or so he’s been back in Hawkins. Though they were friendly when they inevitably crossed paths in the small town, he’s never sought her out, and vice-versa. Some things were better left in the past anyway. 

That’s what Jim told himself.

Though as it turns out, Jim doesn’t _fucking_ listen to himself, as he finds himself pressing harder into Joyce against the door in the back office of the bar well after closing; her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on her ass and their still clothed lower halves grinding into each other. 

He hadn’t intended for this to happen. Of course he hadn’t. He didn’t even know she worked here or would be here tonight but as the drinks continued to flow as easily as their conversation did throughout the night they eventually (and half the town would argue, inevitably) found themselves right back into the old habits of their youthful fleeting romance.

“Fuck” he groans as his mouth continues its assault in the hollow of her throat, making his way down her chest to the top of her breasts. 

He slides his hands up her waist to the hem of the bottom of her t-shirt and swiftly tugs it over her head, tossing it carelessly aside. Joyce’s hands are busy fisting in his hair as if she’s hanging on to him for dear life and so with one experienced hand he reaches behind her between the sliver of space between her back and the door and unhooks her bra, letting it join her shirt on the floor before his mouth descends on one of her small mounds, tongue circling slowly before sucking a nipple into his mouth as his hand pays the other equal attention.

“Hop….” Joyce breathes his name like a mantra. She hasn’t felt this good in… well, she’s embarrassed enough to say she can’t remember when. His tongue should be described as nothing short of wicked as it taunts and teases and worships her and her lower half squirms relentlessly against him, desperate for more. 

Jim, to his credit, quickly takes the hint and his free hand slides down her front to where they’re practically already joined despite the layers of clothing between them, and with deft fingers pops the button to her jeans before sliding the zipper down and immediately shoving his hand inside.

“Fuck. Joyce” Hopper moans as his fingers find her already drenched centre. “Oh, Baby”. Hopper is so out of his mind in a lustful haze that he doesn’t even notice the slip of what would be considered a term of endearment; something he’s careful never to use during his onslaught of one night stands. Suddenly he was no longer Hopper, the womanizing, pill-popping Chief of Police, he’s just Jim, seventeen years old again and in the back seat of his Dad’s Oldsmobile with Joyce Horowitz giving him the ride of his life.

“Ah, Jim!” Joyce is panting and gasping and as he slips two fingers inside of her she lowers her head down and bites his shoulder to keep from screaming as she comes for the first time that night, juices coating his already slick fingers as they continue pumping in and out of her as she rides out her high.

After a few moments of her grinding and whimpering and leaving what Jim is sure will be a bruised bite mark of epic proportions on his shoulder, his fingers begin to slow, sliding in and out at a now leisurely pace while his thumb circles her swollen clit, eliciting the occasional sharp shudder from the woman in his arms.

Jim’s fingers continue their torturously slow pace while his mouth trails back up to the side of her face and her neck, covering her in wet, open-mouthed kisses. He’s slowing down, preparing for this to end, as he can only assume she’ll be coming back to her senses any minute now; pun intended or otherwise, so it surprises him to say the least when suddenly her hands are practically clawing at his waist to get his belt and jeans undone.

“Joyce…” he begins, his tone a little unsure but she’s quick to cut off any unasked questions he may have.

“Hop, fuck me. Please. I need you to fuck me” she’s whispering, her breath hot against his ear and her tone desperate and Jim certainly doesn’t need to be told twice as he pulls his hand out of her pants, wraps his arms around her and turns to carry her the few feet over to the large oak desk and sets her down just on the edge.

Joyce lays back on the desk, propping herself up on her elbows as she lifts her hips from the surface to aid Jim in getting her free of the remainder of her clothing as he tugs on the offending garments so quickly that Joyce doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed or give a second thought to the far-from-sexy choice of underwear she wore tonight. 

With her legs spread deliciously open for him, Jim easily slides two fingers inside of her while his other hand reaches desperately for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. Flipping it open with ease he brings it to his mouth, using his teeth to pluck a condom free and then dropping the wallet to the floor so his now free hand can grab the other end of the foil packet and rip it open.

“God, Jim, hurry, please” Joyce is moaning beneath him as his fingers continue their sensual assault, working her back up to her second rapidly approaching orgasm. 

Shoving his jeans and boxers just enough down his hips that he’s able to free himself, Jim rolls the condom over his painfully hardened length before lining himself up at her entrance. 

“Ok?” He asks just to be sure, though he already knows the answer.

“God just do it already” Joyce practically growls at him and without wasting another second Hopper removes his fingers and easily slides inside until he’s buried to the hilt and takes a brief moment to pause. 

“ _Christ Joyce_ ” Hopper curses as he’s seated fully inside of her; her walls already clenching down on him like a relentless vice grip and he knows he won’t last long but that’s not something either of them are worried about tonight. With his hands at her hips he begins moving at a medium pace until she adjusts to him but it’s not long before her knuckles have gone white from curling her fingers around the edge of the desk and he’s pumping into her so hard that the heavy oak furniture begins to screech as it slides slightly against the linoleum floor in protest.

Joyce all but blacks out as her second orgasm completely overtakes her, leaving her trembling and writhing erratically as Jim continues slamming into her, his own release driving him to the absolute brink until his last few final thrusts carry him over the edge and he collapses in a sweaty heap on top of her, his throbbing need continuing to pulse inside of her for the last few moments of their union until he regretfully slips out of her. Raising himself up just enough so he’s no longer crushing her, his hands grip the desk on either side of her hips as he looms over her, attempting to catch his breath while Joyce does the same.

When a regular flow of oxygen finally returns to his lungs, Jim stands up completely, cleaning himself up quickly before shoving himself back into his pants and then reaching for a cigarette. 

Joyce, in a failed attempt at gracefulness, slides herself off the edge of the desk and back onto her feet before she quickly begins scouring the room for her various articles of clothing strewn about and makes fast work of redressing herself while Jim busies himself lighting up the post-coital nicotine fix they both crave.

“Here” Jim says in way of offering once she’s dressed, holding his hand out that has the cigarette fixed between two fingers towards her. 

“Thanks” she nods, though doesn’t make eye contact, just plucks the cigarette from his fingers and brings it to her lips for a long drag before exhaling towards the ceiling. 

They share the cigarette in silence, neither knowing what exactly to say or what not to say. It's not awkward, but its still far from comfortable. She's married, he's a right fucking mess. This was far from the greatest idea and yet, neither of them are exactly complaining about it either. 

Eventually, with the cigarette burned down nearly all the way to their fingertips, Joyce is the first to speak up.

“I um, I actually have some work to do, you know, close out the tills and all that” Joyce says, nodding towards the desk behind them and Jim nods in understanding, knowing full well that’s his queue. 

“Right, yeah, well it was good seein’ ya, Joyce. I’ll uh… I’ll see you around”

“Yeah, see you around” is all Joyce manages in return as she watches Hopper turn on his heel and walk out the door.

She wonders if she will. See him around, that is.

**Author's Note:**

> More planned for this fic. Hope you like it so far! Kudos and comments fuel my soul :)


End file.
